


The Coincidence

by cirque_de_reves (orphan_account)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: But it's okay, M/M, Pining, also repressed love, and self hatred, because they love each other!!!!, but also lots of suicide-talk could be triggering, fifth-year unactualized snowbaz, if you are easily unnerved take in mind that there are mentions of suicide and feelings of grief, okay I'll stop now this is getting out of hand, sad-ish but happy ending :-), snowbaz fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cirque_de_reves
Summary: Simon can't sleep. It's not for lack of trying; he just can't. Occasionally that happens, and there's no one to blame for it, except maybe the things that keep him awake. He doesn't like talking about it. So he goes for a little walk, which is interrupted by Baz, who coincidentally couldn't sleep either. They both have their reasons. But Baz's insomnia seems...permanent. It's not too long before Simon figures out he's trying to kill himself. Confused about both Baz's motives and a weird, sudden, instinctive need for him to stay alive, Simon tries to talk him down. In the process some pretty heavy things are revealed, as it's only their fifth year at Watford and per tradition and mutual arch-enemy-ship they both keep to themselves with whatever they're feeling. Which, for Simon, is hatred. Duh. But something changes when he sees Baz up on that ledge, about to take his own life. Something pretty damn important...





	The Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> A fairly short (and if it seems rushed I fully apologize) and simple story set in fifth year. Baz is in love, Simon is consumed by hatred. The usual blahdy-blah. But something's gotta change, clearly! Suicide has never helped anyone (if you are emotionally volatile feel free to place so much emphasis on that clause) (in fact even if you're not emotionally volatile just do it it's important), but whoever first said it was a call for help was a genius. I mean, that's not exactly what Baz intends it to be, but hey, this thing is called "the coincidence" for a reason.   
> May the feels commence.

I can't sleep. I can't help that I get like this sometimes - it's a small price to pay, for what I have to be thankful for. Insomnia every once and a while isn't going to kill me. I sit up in my bed and glance around my shadowy room, to Baz's side. I notice he's gone, and I shiver. A pang of worry comes and goes; he's probably off plotting. Of course. That sonofabitch.  
I don't change my clothes. I figure no one will see me, and if they do, it'll be too dark for them to study appearances. I rub my bare arms and slip on some old Birkenstocks and I'm out the door.   
I'm moderately stealthy, which is fair. I've had loads of practice. Once I'm out of the building I walk towards the gate. I'm not sure why. Half the time I'm not thinking, and the other half I'm trying not to think.   
I decide to head for the moat. It's a good distance away; by the time I've made it round trip I'll probably have tired myself out enough to fall asleep. And it's pretty there. The merwolves are asleep, so they won't annoy me and I won't have to pay attention to their ugly asses. I walk a little faster knowing where I'm going.   
I'm just a few paces away from the moat when I see someone. Standing over the side of the canal, the wind rippling and whipping straight through their thin body. If the current wasn't as unforgiving tonight, I'd think I was in a painting. A still life, or something. I'm unfamiliar with art terminology, but this scene reaches into some undiscovered grotto of ominous and unconventional beauty I've never seen the likes of. If whoever it was didn't look like they were about to commit suicide, I could probably settle down on the brittle leaves underneath my shoes and watch them do it without blinking an eye. It's lovely out here.   
I concentrate all the strength I have into a ball under my rib cage and count to three, and start running.   
It becomes exponentially realer the closer I get, and by the time I'm there I'm not in a painting at all anymore. My surroundings are bitingly genuine.   
Baz is the one on the edge. I know he heard me come up, but he must not know (or care) who I am, because he doesn't turn around.   
"Is this some sort of scheme?" I blurt out, and he flips around like a disturbed starling. Maybe he _didn't_ hear me...  
A cocktail of fury and grief flashes through his eyes when he sees me, but it's spo fast I'm not sure I didn't imagine it. Then he speaks, and his voice is completely devoid of emotion. "Leave it to you to assume that."   
I inch closer to him - partially out of choice, and partially because the wind pushes me. It's pushing him, too. I wonder how he hasn't fallen already.   
"What are you doing, then?" I demand.   
"What does it look like?" His arms are still outstretched. They waver a bit when he talks, but not much. I don't know why I notice. "I'm trying to kill myself."   
Goddamn it, Baz. Always insultingly obvious, and _so fucking dramatic._   
"Why the hell would you want to do that?"   
He looks at me like I couldn't possibly know, which I suppose I couldn't. That's why I asked.   
"Well, Snow, I'm a monster," he says, quietly but deadpan as ever, looking out into the water. It looks more like oil, this time of night. "My own mother would kill me, if she were alive."   
I don't know what he means. "I don't know what you mean."   
He turns his head and stares daggers at me. I can't read his face; it's expressionless. "I'm undead, Snow." I put two and two together - I already knew he was a vampire, but here he is, confirming it to my face! I feel like saying _Aha!_ and I almost do, but some small part of me that isn't a dumbass manages to shut up. "Why not die anyway?" He finishes. His tone is smooth and slow and hauntingly apathetic.   
Again, I almost ask if he's sure this'll do it. How many ways are there to kill a vampire? But I figure that fall would kill anyone, maybe before they even hit the water.   
"That's it?" I ask. I try to downplay it, because I want him to regain some fucking sense. How the arrogant arch-enemy Baz I put up with can pull this kind of shit, I don't know. "Are you under a spell or something?"  
He pauses. He seems so accepting of his decision.   
"And...there's someone. That I love, and I don't want to hurt him, and this is the only way not to."  
"Are you sure? Isn't that the kind of thing you should ask _him_?"  
"No. No, he - he hates me."  
I frown. I'm trying to be gentle, to treat him like I'd treat anyone else in this situation, but it's difficult. Baz doesn't count as anyone else. He never has.   
How could I step aside as he blows up all the effort I've spent chasing after him, all these years, the time I've spent prioritizing chasing after him? Stink-eyes and dead-weight handshakes and that glimmer in his eyes when he looked at me that I always thought was evil.   
I always thought evil would want to keep itself _alive_.   
Is everything I always thought wrong?  
I'm so frustrated.   
"There's never any harm in trying, Baz," I blurt out exasperatedly. Immediately, my hands fly to my mouth. Was that too abrupt? If I say the wrong thing, will I kill him?   
Penny always says I lack a filter on my words. I should listen to Penny more often.   
I try to concentrate.   
Baz looks at me. He just looks at me, and for a solid minute I can't move because I'm practically paraplegic from the way he's staring me down. And I'm struck by how eerily beautiful he is, with how the wind blows his hair back so that it trails off into the sky, the black of it matching the black of the night. And his eyes are bloodshot, but they're clearer than I've ever seen them, and I can't look away.   
After the silence, and after opening his mouth and closing it several times, like he can't make up his mind (for half a second I think it must be hard for him to talk to me about something this heavy, after everything we've put each other through, but then I decide firmly that he should trust me the most out of everyone, _because_ of everything we've put each other through) he finally talks. And I listen close, because I still can't move away from him. I am enthralled.   
"Is this the only way I can stop hurting you?" He asks me.   
I watch his eyes well up, but they're still transparent as glass.   
I want to back up, or step away from him. Run back to our room and shove my head under the covers like a frightened seven-year-old. But I can't let him kill himself. Out of everything I'm afraid of, I'm most scared of watching him die, and being unable to stop myself from jumping in after him.   
I don't mean it to come out as creaky and emotional as it does, but since when has anything ever turned out how I meant it to? "There are tons of ways," I say, because my vocabulary is stupidly limited and if I'm as stupidly limited as my vocabulary than saying what I want to say right now will take me all night - "You could start by letting me talk you off that bloody ledge." He's utterly silent. For some reason I hold out my hand for him, but he sees it and winces, so I pull it back. I clear my throat. "If you're really that concerned with not hurting me, you could let me. Please." He doesn't stop glaring at me, and his clothes don't stop flailing in the breeze, and his hair doesn't stop swaying. And I still can't stop looking at him.   
Slowly, he steps down.   
Once he's standing in front of me and at my level I realize I have no idea what comes next, or if I should say anything, or how to keep him from turning back around and dropping himself like a ball-and-chain into the moat anyway. Without thinking I throw my arms around him. All I can think is that I want him to stay. _That's_ what comes next. I need him to stay. I need him to swear that he will.   
"Promise me you won't come back here," I say. I wonder if I look as desperate as I feel. I claw him to me, and then let him go. _What am I thinking?_ I don't care, I don't care.   
He wobbles back and then steadies himself, but other than that he is just as rooted as he has been since I found him here. Parts of him still swing with the wind, but he is grounded.   
"Why?"   
Oh. I wasn't expecting that question.   
"Weren't you listening? If you don't want to hurt me, don't come back here. Don't hurt yourself," I whisper, even though it's just us. Baz and I.   
"I thought _you_ wanted to hurt me."  
I look at my shoes. "I don't know what I want."  
He sneers. A part of me relaxes at that, because that's the Basilton I know. "Well, then your _sensitivity_ doesn't really mean anything, does it."  
I look up. He's close to me. I can feel his breath on my shoulder. It's cold, like the wind, but they feel different. Or maybe I feel different - I don't care about the wind.   
I grab his jaw, the nape of his neck. "It should," I say, and pull him to me, and before his lips hit mine - "it should mean _everything_."   
And then I kiss him. His mouth is warm. He molds into me like Play-Doh and kisses me back. He tastes unorthodox, but good. I hold on tight.   
His fingers clutch into my back. I might even have bruises there tomorrow, but it's worth it. Merlin, it's worth it. He tastes like salt and toothpaste.   
I think, _this must be a hell of a sight to see. Two boys kissing in their pyjamas in the middle of the night on a Tuesday, hanging over a cliff_. I try not to think about it.   
I kiss him harder, and try not to think about it.   
I'm going to sleep well tonight. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that if you were in a bit of a funk these loverboys fixed you right up! I fundamentally need two things: morning coffee and Snowbaz. If the latter is on your list, too, it makes me very happy to think that I might have fulfilled a small necessity of someone out there's day with this little fic. I'm lucky to have this site and its readers, and a dash of gay-literature talent, and books like Carry On.   
> Life is good, friends. Life is good.   
> If you're having a decent day, I hope it keeps up. If not, all troubles are passing, love. (Idk, I'm feeling extraordinarily cliche today.) Embrace your opportunities! Fulfill your whimsical and potentially irrelevant fundamental needs, no matter how whimsical or potentially irrelevant they are!  
> Thank you for reading (especially this shitty little rant)  
> <3


End file.
